Hu Money: A Forbidden Bully Romance (The Dirty Money Duet Book 1)

by BL Mute

  I wipe my fingers over the tears on her face, pull out of her pussy, then wipe them on the tip of my dick. I take a second to stroke myself a few times, then spit into my hand. Once it’s rubbed all over the head, I push my forearm over the small of her back and use the other to spread her again.

  Slowly, I push at her ass. She tries to clench to keep me out, but it won’t work. I’m too determined. With all my might, I thrust into her. Every last inch of my shaft buries inside of her as another scream bubbles in her throat.

  “Ruined,” I whisper in her ear before pulling out and pushing back in.

  I continue until my dick is marked with streaks of blood, and her body goes still. With one last thrust, I come in her ass, then pull out.

  Blood and cum drip from her stretched hole, down to her thighs, and continue till they hit my floor, and I know my job is done.

  Her limp body collapses in the small pool of pink, and it pisses me off all over again. “Disgusting. Look at yourself, Lydia. Sitting in a puddle of my cum and your blood. Tell me again how I don’t own you.”

  When her only reply is a gurgling cry, I laugh. I lean down and remove the panties from her mouth, then slip them back over her legs along with her shorts.

  “Come on, baby,” I start, hoisting her up and walking toward the door. “It wasn’t that bad. I bet you liked it.”

  Another laugh tears through me as I open the door, and lo and behold, my pathetic excuse for a son is walking by. I bet he was sitting out here the entire time knowing I was fucking her.

  I flash him a smirk and throw her limp body toward him. As his arms wrap around her, I scoff. What a fucking pussy. “She’s too used up for me. You can have her now.”

  I kick her phone out the door with her, then close it on his face and get back to work like it’s any other normal day.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CARTER

  When her body falls into my arms, my anxiety calms the slightest bit. I knew she was in there, and I knew what was happening. Or at least I thought I did.

  I stand her up and let her use me for balance. “Lydia, what happened?”

  Her glassy eyes find mine, and she shakes her head with her bottom lip bitten between her teeth. “Take me home, please.”

  I want to press her and get answers, but with all the sorrow radiating from her, I can’t bring myself to do it. I agree silently, pick up her phone, then lead her out of the club.

  When I pull my car into the garage at home, I notice Claire is gone, along with Carmen’s big white Bentley. It’s probably best we’re alone because Lydia doesn’t seem to be in the best shape. I kill my engine and step out, then round the hood to her side. Carefully, I help her out and inside.

  We take the stairs slowly, but she still winces with every step, and it hurts me. “What did he do?” I try again, but all I’m met with are sobs.

  I shake my head and help her into her room. I try to settle her into bed, but she refuses. “I need to shower. I need him off me.”

  Since it’s the first full sentence she’s spoken since he threw her out, I oblige and walk her into the bathroom. I flip on the light and leave her holding on to the counter to start the water. When I turn back around, her shorts and panties are around her ankles, and she’s crying.

  Stepping back to her to try and comfort her, I catch the sight of something red. When I look down, I realize it’s her panties. She’s bleeding.

  I instantly start thinking the worst, and blinding anger rumbles inside of me. “Lydia… What. Did. He. Do?”

  She picks her head up and stares at me in the mirror. Her blue eyes are puffy and red. Her lips quiver as a frown pulls them down. “He raped me. He raped me, and he ruined me!”

  Her cries are no longer soft sobs. They’re full-blown screams that shake the walls and shatter the earth under my feet. As my hands reach out to grab her and hold her, they shake. Pure rage pumps through my veins.

  I pull her into me and let her head rest in my chest. I shush her the same way my mom used to do when I got hurt as I pet her hair. “You’re not ruined, Bunny. You can never be ruined.”

  I keep her body plastered to mine the best I can as I maneuver her shirt up and over her head and step into the shower. The moment my clothes get wet, they weigh me down, but the adrenaline running through me gives me the strength I need to wash her hair and body. I scrub her softly, not wanting to hurt her any more than she already is.

  When she’s as clean as I can get her, I pull away and strip out of my clothes, then step out. I pull her out, then dry her body and dress her in the most comfortable thing I can find in her closet.

  Still naked, I lay her in bed and tuck her in. I’m not sure if this is what she wants or needs, but it’s the only thing that makes sense to me. I need to make sure she’s comfortable and safe.

  Safe.

  With that thought in mind… “I’ll be right back.” I’m not sure if my voice is low and sweet like I want it to be. I can’t hear it through the blood swooshing in my ears as my heart beats faster and faster, but I don’t ponder it.

  I go to my room, grab some clothes, and throw them on. With everything in place, I run back down the stairs and into the garage. I rummage through one of Henry’s old toolboxes until I find the screwdriver I’m looking for. With it in hand, I hurry back upstairs.

  When I’m back in Lydia’s room, I close her door and lock it, then get to work on the bathroom door. I take each tiny screw out of the knob until it pulls apart.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice is hoarse and weak behind me.

  “Making sure you’re safe.”

  I switch the sides of the knob so she can have the lock inside of her room instead of in the bathroom. Once everything is back in place, I put the screws back, making sure they’re tight, then turn to face her again. “When I leave, lock this.”

  Her face turns a shade paler. “Leave? You can’t leave me.”

  When her chin starts to wobble, I rush to her side. “Shhh.” I pull her head to my chest again. “I promise you I won’t let him near you ever again.”

  Her sobs quiet long enough for her to speak. “You can’t make promises you can’t keep. He’s probably on his way here now.”

  Like some sort of fucking cue, the front door slams.

  My body stiffens, and I kiss her forehead before standing. “I plan to keep every. Fucking. Word,” I emphasize, walking to the bathroom door. “Lock this.”

  I don’t give her time to reply before I close it behind me and stroll to my room. For once when I know Mac is coming, I’m not dreading it, and I’m not scared. I’m fucking ready.

  When he appears in my doorway, I smile, and he tips his head. “What’s funny?”

  I suck my teeth and cross my arms. “Nothing is funny.”

  His eyes narrow. “Then wipe the stupid smile off your face.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “No.”

  I don’t think I’ve ever told him no. Not so directly anyway, and it feels fucking freeing.

  “No?”

  I give him a single nod. “You heard me.”

  Now it’s his turn to smile as he steps closer. “No, son, I don’t think I did. Why don’t you repeat yourself.”

  I chuckle at his annoyance and power play. If he thinks I’m scared, I’m not. “I told you no. Simple as that. So what are you going to do? Beat my ass? Or maybe you can kick it up a notch and rape me the same way you did Lydia.” I uncross my arms and brace myself. “Did you plan on just paying her extra to keep quiet?”

  He shakes his head. “I have to admit,” he starts, changing the subject and taking a step back. He starts pacing slowly in front of me like my words don’t faze him. “Your bravery is admirable, but I know who you really are. You’re a pussy and nothing more.”

  His words do nothing but throw gas on the fire burning inside of me. I circle my bed, keeping my back to him, and stop in front of my bookshelf.

  “So, what exactly did she tell you, Carter? Did she tell you how
she liked it when I ripped through her asshole? How her legs shook from pleasure and she cried out in pure ecstasy?”

  His voice slams into my head and bounces around. She said he raped her, but she never said how or anything else, and I never asked. I didn’t feel the need to. How the fuck do you even pose questions like that after someone you care about goes through something so traumatic? It’s so much worse than I thought.

  “I ruined her,” he hisses, and it sends me over the edge.

  I turn around and grab the paperweight, then charge him. Luckily, I catch him off guard, and he fall to the ground as I crash into him.

  There is no world around me. No colors. No sounds. Nothing. I only see his face, and I want to fuck it up. I raise above him, wrapping both of my hands around the crystal sphere, then bring it down with as much force as I can.

  A dent forms in the center of his forehead, and his body stops moving, but I don’t. I pick it up again, then slam it back down. Over and over, I pound the glass into his face. Even when it chips and crumbles in my hands. Even when there is no resemblance of him left, I keep going.

  His skin splits open more and more with every strike. Muscle tissue peeks out, then stretches and snaps when I grab it and pull. Bright red blood covers his exposed bones, and his teeth turn to nothing more than powder in what used to be his mouth.

  My shoulders start to ache, and I can’t tell if it’s his blood or mine all over my knuckles, but I can’t stop. I try to tell myself to, but I can’t. It’s almost as if my mind and body are two different beings. I can see the scene in front of me, and I’m mortified, but my hands keep moving. They keep swinging.

  Blood and brain matter splash onto my face and the front of my shirt, then hands grab me by my shoulders. Suddenly, my mind snaps back into my body, and I see the scene in front of me.

  Blood. So much blood.

  “Carter…”

  I let my hands fall to my sides and stand from his corpse. “Wha—what did I do?”

  I don’t know why the question slips out because I already know the answer. I saw it all unfold, and I didn’t try and stop it. All that I could think about is all the years of hell he put me through. Each strike to his face was retribution for all the times he hit me. And what he did to Lydia.

  “Carter…” she says again.

  I finally turn and look at her, but she isn’t the same, scared Lydia from before. The woman in front of me is strong, unfazed, and… hurt? For me?

  I raise my hands in front of my face and look at all the evidence covering them. “I killed him.”

  Lydia comes closer and grabs my wrists, then shoves them back to my side. “You did, and he deserved it. Now we need to clean this up before my mom gets home.”

  I look around my room. Blood splatters the walls, pools on the floor, and covers sixty percent of my body, and I can’t move. “I killed him.”

  “Carter!” Her scream snaps me out of the shock-filled haze I seem to be stuck in. “I understand this is a lot to process, but we can’t just stand here. Be productive now and sad later.”

  Her words are harsh, but I understand everything she’s saying. I force myself to walk into the bathroom and start the shower. As I slip my blood-soaked clothes off, Lydia disappears, then reappears with a trash bag. Without a care in the world, she picks them up, staining her hands with my father’s blood, and stuffs them in the bag.

  As I slowly wash my hair and body, I can see her silhouette moving back and forth from her room to mine. She had to have made at least four trips back and forth by the time I get out. I only have a minute to dress myself in clean clothes before she’s back in front of me, barking commands.

  “We have to move him.” She grabs my arm and pulls me back into my room.

  The scent of copper fills my nose and makes me gag, but it isn’t as bad as when I move back to his head and she tries to make me lift him.

  “Pick him up, Carter. I can’t do this alone.”

  I can hear her, but my muscles won’t cooperate.

  “Get at his feet,” she says, but again, I don’t move. “Get at his feet! If you can’t stomach to see his fucking skull bashed in, grab his fucking feet!”

  I don’t know if it’s her tone or the fact I know I have to do this, but something drags my feet forward. I grab his legs and lift as she grabs him under his arms and does the same. His mangled head rests against her chest, bobbing slightly with every step we take, and acid rises in my throat. I was supposed to protect her—never let him touch her again—but here he is, smearing himself all over her. Again.

  She looks over her shoulder as she walks, leading the way, and I just stare at him. Or what used to be him. We cross the hall and enter his room, where she instructs me to put him on the bed. With a heaving swing, we get him on top of the king-sized mattress. As she pulls and tugs at the blanket under him, I stay frozen. Watching.

  She finally frees it from under his dead weight and covers him up. Once she’s satisfied, she walks back to me, grabs my arm, and leads me back to her room. “I know this is hard, but you have to snap the fuck out of it. You have thirty minutes.”

  “Thirty minutes?”

  She doesn’t answer me. She just goes to the bathroom, washes the blood off every inch of skin it touched, then changes into more normal clothes and out of the comfortable ones I put her in. When she’s done, she pulls his laptop from under her bed and again leads me into his room. She moves a picture on the wall, revealing a safe. She punches in a code, and it opens, then she stuffs it inside and closes it again.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Where? We can’t run away from this, Lydia.” Thank fuck I’m finally able to speak a full sentence, even though my insides still feel tingly and my mind won’t stop racing.

  “We aren’t running from shit.”

  I follow her out and down the stairs, then to the garage. I go to enter my car, but she stops me. “Just drive to the end of the driveway and wait on me. Can you do that?”

  I nod, even though I don’t really know what I’m capable of. Clearly.

  “Good. Go.” She shoos me away.

  I back out of the garage, then turn and don’t stop until I hit the end of the circle drive.

  I get anxious the longer I wait, but after about five minutes, Lydia appears, running out the front door. Instead of going to the passenger side, she comes to the driver’s. “Scoot.”

  I throw my legs over the console, then slide the rest of my body into the passenger seat, and she slips into the driver’s. “What did you do?”

  She points to the top of the house. “Hopefully, I just saved our asses.” Smoke starts to billow from the highest peak. “I’m sending it all up in flames.”

  She doesn’t say anything else as she peels out of the driveway and heads downtown.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  LYDIA

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  I wasn’t sure if my plan would work. Between the hastiness of it all and Carter’s shocked state of mind, I wasn’t very hopeful, but… we made it.

  We went downtown and ordered food after I threw the lit match on Mac’s dead body, trying to act as normal as possible. It wasn’t until about twenty minutes later I got the call from my mom. She was crying and screaming about our house going up in flames. I have to admit, it was hard to set it on fire. All the memories I had of my dad lived there, but the more I think about it, that place hadn’t been a home to me in a long time. It felt empty after my dad died, and I think that’s the only thing that pushed me forward to do what I did.

  That and Carter.

  I know what he did was for me. Sure, it was for him too, but after he heard what Mac did to me, it gave him the push he needed.

  I wasn’t expecting him to kill him by any means. I thought maybe he would just finally stand up to him and stop accepting his fate as Mac’s doormat, but I’m not even mad at the outcome. Mac was a monster, and now we aren’t the only ones who know it.

  The safe I stashed his laptop in was f
ireproof, and the fire was put out just in time for it to survive. Police started investigating his death as a murder, but after uncovering the files Bradley put on his computer, they ruled it a “terrible accident” and closed the case. I guess they didn’t care if anyone did kill him because it was clear the world was better off without him.

  We’re all better off without him, and I think Mom realizes that too. She doesn’t talk about him like she does my dad, and I think in a way, that means she’s okay. She doesn’t miss Malcolm.

  Being strong that day when all I felt was weak was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but after seeing the care and compassion Carter showed me, I felt I owed it to him. His shock wasn’t from sadness over losing his dad or hating himself over what he did. It was the overwhelming sense of freedom. He knew he was free for good, and that thrilled the fuck out of him. He just didn’t know how to show it.

  “You okay?”

  Carter drags me from my thoughts. I give him a smile and lay my head on his shoulder. He’s probably asked me that a million and one times since everything, and my answer is always the same. “I’m good. You?”

  He returns my smile. “I’m more than good.”

  His smile is genuine now. It isn’t clouded by pain or sorrow. It’s pure happiness, and I like to think I contributed to that. I helped him escape the biggest demon that was holding him back. He has actual plans now and sees more of a future other than cleaning up Mac’s messes.

  He helps my mom run the club during the week and takes business management classes on the weekends. Real business management classes. He hopes to take over the club one day and bring it back to how it was when my dad ran it, and I have faith in him.

  Now that he’s free, he reminds me more of my dad. Bubbly. Sarcastic. Funny. He has all the best qualities a girl could ask for, and I feel lucky he’s mine.

  “You ready to head home yet?”

  I turn and look into his deep amber eyes. “No. Not yet.” I reposition myself, lifting my head and resting my back against the fountain in front of the country club.